It Is You Who Shall Bear My Suffering Now
by Twilights-Pain
Summary: Trapped on the Condesce's ship, the Psiionic reminisces on his time spent with the Sufferer.


All his life, the Psiionic had hated how about him was based on duality. His eyes, his personality and his behavior were all split evenly into two separate parts. He was mocked for it, sometimes in a loving manner and sometimes out of cruelty. When his companions did it, he put on a brave face and grinned like everyone else, but deep down, he loathed such jokes.

Now, as he was forced to run Her Imperious Condescension's ship, he couldn't have been more grateful. Whatever split that had occurred in his think pan was the only thing saving him from absolute madness. After he had been imprisoned on the Condesce's ship and forced to act as her helmsman, he had thought he would slowly lose his mind. The agony of having his psionics forcefully activated had been rotting his think pan faster than a buffet of spoor would have.

The Psiionic wasn't sure how much time had passed before he realized that he no longer felt that particular pain. He would have hoped that he had died, if he wasn't acutely aware of the sorcery that the Condesce had worked on him.

It wasn't until a few days, maybe even weeks (he couldn't comprehend time) later that he realized he had allowed one part of his think pan to work with his psionics and deal with the pain, while the other part retreated deep into his memories. In there, the pain was nothing but a dull, faint ache, like sore muscles the day after combat training.

So the Psiionic began to wander through his memories, watching them as he would watch a film. He skipped past his early days of slavery, not wishing to remember the cruelty he suffered at the hands of his masters. Instead he began when he met the Sufferer and the Dolorosa.

The details of that day were shockingly clear. This was not entirely surprising however, as he had dwelled on every memory he had of the Sufferer for sweeps. He could not help it.

The Psiionic was running an errand for his master the day the Dolorosa and the Sufferer visited. They stood in the heart of the village, calmly spreading the word of the young man's visions. He had spoken of a time of peace, when lowbloods, highbloods and seadwellers had lived together. Though their race had been vicious and combative since the dawn of time, he firmly believed that peace had once united the land, and could once again.

The passion in his voice allowed the Psiionic to believe it too

That night, as the Dolorosa and Sufferer prepared to depart, the Psiionic approached them. The Dolorosa was the first to see him and moved to stand in front of the Sufferer protectively. The Sufferer seemed ready to object, but the Psiionic spoke before a fight could break out between the two.

"I heard your speech today. It was incredibly moving."

The Dolorosa relaxed a little, though she refused to move from her spot in front of the Sufferer. After glaring up at the elder woman, he leaned around her and smiled at the Psiionic.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He said. "Mother helped me with it. She's really good with words, y'know?"

"Apparently so," the Psiionic said, nodding to the woman with a smile. She met his smile with a stony look. Despite her relaxation, she still did not trust him.

"Who are you?" She asked.

The Psiionic looked away. Even after sweeps of life, he had never been given a true name. He had been called slave, kid or scum, but never by a name.

"My masters referred to me as the Psiionic."

He was lying of course. If they called him the Psiionic, it was only because they tacked the word 'scum' onto the end of it.

"But my name doesn't matter. I want to join you," He said bluntly, shaking off his memories. "If any of what you say is true, any of it at all, then it's a cause worth spreading and fighting for."

The Dolorosa seemed prepared to say no and quickly be on her way. The Sufferer, however, had other ideas. He grinned widely at the idea and quickly pushed in front of his mother figure.

"You really want to come with us?" He placed his hands on the Psiionic's shoulders,

"Yes," The Psiionic answered. He hoped that the honey colored flush to his skin wasn't completely obvious.

The Sufferer stepped back a little and looked at the Dolorosa. She stared back at him, a frown tugging at the edges of her lips, before nodding a little. She seemed displeased, but the Psiionic and the Sufferer could have cared less.

The three of them travelled to every village they could reach on the main landmass of Alternia, working as a team to spread the word of the Sufferer's visions. The Sufferer would tell the Dolorosa of what he had seen, and she would write down his words, taking down every last detail. She would then rewrite the description, using her word palette to give the visions a little more allure.

For awhile, the Psiionic felt out of place. But, after a village guard had caught wind of the Sufferer's speech and nearly killed him, things changed.

The guard had come running at the trio, pushing through the crowd. He clutched a long blade in his hand and was deadest on running the Sufferer through. A jolt of fear ran through the Psiionic. He couldn't bear the idea of losing his companion.

The Psiionic pushed the Sufferer out of the way, standing in his place to receive the blow. He followed up the shove with a blast of his psionics, knocking the guard into the nearest building. They did not stay to see if the guard survived.

From that day on, the Psiionic was considered the Sufferer's body guard. But for the Psiionic, the attack had caused more than his promotion. It had caused him to realize his growing red feelings toward the rebel leader.

For nearly a sweep, it was only the three of them at the core of the growing rebellion. Yes, they had gained followers who travelled with them from village to village, but they were not involved in any of the decisions, nor were they aware of the newest visions until the time came to present them to the public.

But then, while searching through some caves in an attempt to find shelter, they found _her._ She was slumped over the body of a dead lusus, wailing unintelligibly. She was covered in chartreuse blood, seemingly unaware of it.

The Sufferer went to her first, resting a hand on her shoulder. She skittered back and bared her teeth, similar to the way a clawbeast would. But the Sufferer wasn't intimidated. He took the girl into his arms, ignoring when she clawed at his face and arms. He rubbed her back and soothed her until she fell asleep.

When she woke again, she had calmed down. She explained that the highbloods had culled her lusus only a day prior. She too would have been culled, had she not been scavenging for food at the time.

The Sufferer then told his story, which the young girl absorbed with a thrilled look on her face. In the middle of his tale, she scrambled away for a moment, grabbing a small book. With it, she began to transcribe his story. Right then and there she became his Disciple.

It took everything in the Psiionic's power to forget about the way they began to look at each other.

The caves became their home.

From there, small groups would accompany the core of the rebellion to local towns, where they would preach the newest vision. At night, the Sufferer would tell the Disciple of all the things that he had learned from his visions and she would write them down. Then they would disperse, either going to sleep or, in the Sufferer's case, considering what the newest visions had revealed. Often the Sufferer would sit outside of the caves, staring up at the stars.

One night, nearly three sweeps after meeting the Disciple, the Psiionic found himself struggling to fall asleep. To tire himself out, he began to wander through the caves, eventually finding himselfoutside. He was just about to go back in when the Sufferer spoke.

"What are you doing out here, Psii?"

The Psiionic shrugged, thankful that neither moon was shining in this particular area. Had either lunar body been in the area, their light would have revealed a honey colored flush at the sound of the Sufferer's nickname for him.

"Can't sleep SF," he said quietly. The Psiionic sat beside his red blooded friend and tilted his head. "Why are you out here this late?"

"Thinking," He responded. He followed this up with a sigh. "Considering the visions, as always."

"Did you have another one?"

The Sufferer shook his head slowly. His hair fell into his face, and he didn't bother to push it away.

"I'm just trying to understand what they all mean. I keep seeing these visions of peace, but Alternian history dictates that we have always been a warring race," He sighed. "If that's true, then what am I seeing?"

"Does it matter?" The Psiionic asked.

The Sufferer turned to him, his eyes wide. He seemed ready to say something, to argue about his rebellion, but the Psiionic hadn't finished yet.

"The point, SF, is that we were, at some point, at peace. It shouldn't matter how, or why, but that we _were_ at peace and can be again."

The Sufferer gaped for a moment, but then smiled and nodded.

"You're right Psii," He said. "You're absolutely right,"

The Psiionic wasn't sure how long had passed since he had last faced reality. All he was really aware of was the Condesce standing in front of him. There was an odd look in her eyes, something that, after ages spent in the confines of his own mind, he just couldn't place.

Until she forced her lips upon his own, forcing him into a kiss. It was only then that he realized what that look was. There was very little that the Psiionic could do to stop her, but he wouldn't allow his limitations to stop him

He bit into her lips, drawing tyrian purple blood. The Condesce pulled herself away, staring at him in both hate and bewilderment.

He knew there could be only two outcomes stemming from his actions. She would either kill him, something that would be welcome after all that he had suffered, or allow him to live and return to his memories.

Of course she chose the former. He was far too useful and now, after travelling so far, he was irreplaceable. The Psiionic wasn't sure how to feel about that.

The clearest memory in the Psiionic's head was also the one marred with the most pain. It was after they had returned from sailing the First Ship.

He remembered entering the caves one night, seeking the Sufferer intently. After a short conversation with the Dolorosa, he had worked up the courage to admit his flushed feelings to his companion.

However, as he neared the cavern that the Sufferer had used as a respiteblock, he became aware of another voice. It was high and sweet, the type of voice that could only belong to the Disciple.

The Psiionic slowed down and peered hesitantly into the room, trying his best to stay hidden. Instantly he wished that he hadn't let curiosity get the best of him, as what awaited him nearly destroyed him.

The Disciple was perched on the Sufferers lap, leaning toward his face. Her hands were placed on his shoulders, and between that, her position and the green flush slowly spreading across her face, her intentions were quite obvious to the yellow blooded troll.

It was also quite obvious that the Sufferer had no plans of stopping her.

There wasn't much time to dwell on his unrequited red feelings though. Only a few days after the Psiionic witnessed their kiss, the highbloods sprung an ambush on the group. The Sufferer had led his people valiantly in the fight, dealing a massive blow to the forces of the highbloods, but ultimately the remaining forces were captured.

The Dolorosa, Disciple, Psiionic and Sufferer were forced to watch as the group that had fought with them was put to a slow death, one by one.

It was only a matter of time until they dealt with the Sufferer himself. When they came for him, the Psiionic began to struggle against his captors. He attempted to activate his psionic abilities, but was dealt a powerful blow to the back of the head. He fell to the ground, knocked unconscious.

When he woke only a few minutes later, he found that the Sufferer had been clad in hot irons and was now being tortured for all to see. He refused to scream, even though the pain in his eyes was obvious. Instead he began to speak.

"You have all seen heard of my visions. You have heard of the time that we once lived in, when there were no castes, no symbols and no highblood oppression. These visions are real, and now it is time for you to spread them for me. It is your turn now. Bear my suffering and spead my-"

The sharp twang of an arrow being fired cut him off. Beside him, the Dolorosa drew a sharp breath, while the Disciple cried out. It took a moment for the Psiionic to see that the arrow had plunged deep into the Sufferer's gut.

Silence swept across the imperial flogging jut. Everyone stared at the Sufferer, who was staring at the blue arrow protruding from his body. His eyes were wide in surprise, mouth agape and struggling to finish the speech.

But instead of finishing, he tilted his head back and screamed. At first it was an unintelligible howl, but as his voice carried on, it formed a word that the Dolorosa would not have approved of under any other circumstance. The sound ripped through the flogging jut, across the plains surrounding it and into the air. The Psiionic wouldn't have been surprised if his final word reached the far edges of their galaxy.

And then his voice faded into a silence that only the dead were capable of.

The Psiionic forced himself out of his memories before he could dwell on his emotions any longer. There was a strange sound in the air, a painful humming. There was also a strange shrieking in the air, growing closer and closer even as the hum grew louder.

"The vast glub," He whispered to himself. He could barely hear it between the glub and the shrieking, but he doubted would have regardless. The Psiionic had screamed so loud over the past few centuries that he didn't have much of a voice left.

Still, the shrieking confused him. It took him a little while to realize that it was the Condesce screaming. She had burst into his chamber and was unleashing a long string of expletives. Mostly she was telling him not to die.

But it was too late. The glub was frying his brain and boiling his blood. He was in agony, but for once he welcomed the pain. He was, after centuries of praying for it, finally dying.

He turned his eyes to the ceiling, attempting to look into the heavens.

With his last breath he whispered, "I'm coming SF,"


End file.
